Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)

Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors) Page 65

by Violet Duke

  “I’m not!” I protest, putting my head down so he can’t see the smile that won’t shift from my lips.

  “You so are.” Garrett isn’t buying my denials. “I can’t even look at you. And Hunter’s probably just as bad. He seemed like such a decent guy,” Garrett adds mournfully. “I figured we could hang out, watch a game sometimes. Now he’s a lost cause.”

  “But this is your fault!” I cry. “You’re the one who kept pushing me at him, remember?”

  “And I’ll rue the day as long as I live.” Garrett is still playing dramatic, so I roll my eyes.

  “Whatever. And I’m not mooning over him, I’m just happy is all.”

  Garrett grins. “So this is what happy looks like on you? Damn, I thought the day would never come.”

  “Very funny.” I go to help him maneuver the keg into place under the bar, shoving him playfully as I go.

  “Hey, Brit?”

  I look up.

  “I’m happy for you,” Garrett says quietly. “You deserve a break.”

  I blush, selfconscious. “Whatever,” I brush off his comment, “It’s still early. I don’t even know what’s going to happen.”

  “Yeah, but that’s the fun part.” Garrett gets a wistful, distant smile. “When you’re just figuring it all out, and everything’s fresh and new.”

  “It is for you,” I throw back, joking. “You don’t even make it past a week with your girls!”

  Garrett’s faraway look drops, and his usual teasing smile snaps back into place. “That’s plenty,” he winks. “Hell, I know everything I need to know about a girl in thirty seconds.”

  “That quick, huh? Guess stamina’s not your strong point.” I stick my tongue out at him.

  Garrett roars in protest. “What the hell? I go all night, baby, all night long.” He pumps the air and howls, and I can’t help but fall about laughing, watching him parade around the bar, taking a victory lap for his supposed prowess.

  I laugh until my cheeks are aching and I’m gasping for air. It feels good to let it all out. The giddy skip in my stomach, just thinking about Hunter; the lightness in my chest even when I’m not. I’ve been so used to walking around with a heavy tight knot of bitterness and insecurity behind my ribcage, I never even realized I don’t have to feel that way. That maybe, I can wake up in the morning without a heavy weight crushing down on me; go to sleep at night dreaming of happy days, and not just the faces of all the people who’ve left me behind.

  My phone buzzes with a text as our laughter fades away. I pull it out of my pocket eagerly. Hunter.

  Counting the hours. I can’t wait to see you.

  My stomach skips with delight, and I feel the smile take over my face.

  Garrett shakes his head at me and sighs. “Another one bites the dust.”

  I HAVE NO IDEA what Hunter is planning for us, so I figure I’ll play it safe and dress for anything: my pale blue bikini under cut-off denim shorts and a funky ripped crop top; my ratty old lace-up boots just in case I’m in for a hike. I’m just pulling on an armful of clattering metal bangles when I hear Hunter’s truck pull up outside.

  I fly downstairs. “Hey,” I greet him breathlessly. “How are you?”

  “Better now.” Hunter gives me a smile. He’s wearing another of his faded shirts, a grey tee that looks so soft I want to touch it. So I do. Placing one hand on his solid chest, I reach up on my tiptoes to land a soft kiss on his lips.

  “So much better,” Hunter grins, pulling me in and deepening the kiss. His body is warm against mine, and my pulse kicks with a delicious thrill, soft and sweet like a summer breeze.

  “I just have to grab my shoes and a sweater,” I tell him, when we finally break away. “I’ll be right down.”

  “Take your time.” Hunter calls after me as I race back up the stairs.

  I get the rest of my stuff together and throw it in the purse I sewed from brightly-printed fabric scraps. When I get back downstairs, Hunter is already out in the truck, engine idling with the radio on. I scramble up beside him. “Good to go?” Hunter raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Hmmm, almost.”

  I lean over and kiss him again, reveling in the taste of his lips and the scrape of stubble against my skin. I taste him, falling gently into the slow, unhurried bliss of his mouth and scent and his tongue, gently teasing mine. There’s nothing frenzied about these kisses. We’ve got all day.

  And God, I could kiss him forever.

  Finally, Hunter pulls back. He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off a daze. “How did you learn to kiss like that?” he asks. “Wait, don’t tell me. Whatever his name was, I don’t want to know.”

  “Maybe you were the one who taught me,” I grin.

  “OK. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” Hunter laughs.

  He puts the truck into drive and we head out, driving the quiet roads back through town and out onto the highway. It’s a beautiful day, the last of the summer sun warming my bare arms as I drape one hand out the open window, feeling the wind whip through my fingertips. The blue skies dance with puffy white clouds, and as we drive the coastal road, I can see the sunlight glittering on the waves.

  I’ve never seen a more perfect day. Or maybe that’s because I didn’t have Hunter beside me, brightening everything, his easy smile warming my whole body from the inside out.

  I remember my dreams from last night, the strands of memory weaving themselves together in a fragment of the past.

  “You ever think about it?” I ask curiously, watching the shoreline pass. “That night we spent together, back then.”

  There’s a pause, and I wonder if I’ve just gone and messed things up again. We haven’t talked about what happened back then, not even once. Maybe it was the unwritten rule of all of this, not to bring it up. But when I look over, Hunter has a smile dancing on the edge of his perfect mouth.

  “It’s crossed my mind a couple of times,” he replies.

  I let out a silent breath of relief.

  “It seemed like a dream to me, sometimes.” I confess shyly. “I mean, it was like a moment out of time, you know? So unconnected to everything else in my life. We never even really talked before.” I pause. “And then, after…”

  “You made your exit.” Hunter’s voice is matter-of-fact, but I still swear I can hear a hint of recrimination there—or maybe that’s just my guilt, whispering in the back of my mind.

  “I had to.” I say quietly, still trying to justify it to myself after all these years. “It couldn’t have happened any other way.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?” I look over. He nods.

  “We were young. We barely knew what the hell we were doing, what we wanted.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you felt,” I tell him, relief strong in my veins. “Part of me wondered if you hated me for just bailing, but then, I figured you’d hooked up with dozens of girls.”

  Hundreds of girls. I silently add. Beautiful and perfect and way better for you than I could ever be.

  “None like you.” Hunter smiles.

  I laugh it off. “I bet you say that to all your one-night stands.”

  Hunter reaches over and takes my hand, lifting it to his lips in a gesture so casually affectionate it takes my breath away. “There’s never been anyone like you.” We drive for hours in an easy haze, chatting about movies, and music, and a dozen little meaningless things that somehow seem perfect, here with him. I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t even care, but when the city skyline rises into sight, I can’t help but bounce impatiently in my seat.

  “Give me a clue,â�
� I beg.

  Hunter shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “A tiny hint?”

  “I’m not telling,” he declares. “And you should already know, I don’t back down.”

  “And you should know, I don’t go down without a fight,” I retort.

  “Promises, promises.” Hunter gives me a seductive look, full of dark promise, and suddenly, I could care less where we’re heading—as long as it’s private, with some kind of horizontal surface.

  “So how are your parents dealing with your big change?” I ask, quickly trying to change the subject to something less dangerous before I lean over and rip his shirt right off. “Is your brother taking your side, at least?”

  Hunter grips the steering wheel tighter. “They’re not dealing,” he replies, his voice suddenly hard. “That would mean accepting someone else’s point of view, and that goes against a good hundred years of the Covington way.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “That must be tough, trying to live up to what they want from you.”

  “It is.” Hunter shakes his head slowly. “And the thing I just figured out is, I’m never going to win.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, watching him.

  “It’s like I spent the last twenty-two years jumping through hoops for them. It wasn’t enough that I made the football team, I had to be captain too. Whenever I brought home an A paper, my dad would go through it and point out all the things I still could have done better.” Hunter’s voice has a tight edge to it that makes my heart ache for him. How could anything he does not be good enough?

  “And Jace…” he starts. “Jace was always perfect. It wasn’t just that he did everything they wanted, he liked it too. He wanted to please them. And me…? I can’t ever live up to that, not even if I tried.”

  “So you stopped trying,” I say quietly, realizing that his move out to Beachwood is about so much more than just following his passion for horses and the farm. Part of me still had it down as the whim of some rich kid who’s decided to do whatever the hell he wants, but Hunter isn’t that shallow. Taking a stand against his family—and the life they’ve chosen for him—has been a long time coming for him. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to finally walk away.”

  Hunter lets out a long, ragged breath. “I didn’t like the man I was becoming,” he says quietly. “Not in their world. I need to do things right, I owe it—” he stops himself from speaking.

  “Owe what?” I ask, curious, but Hunter is pulling the truck into a parking spot, on a busy downtown street.

  “We’re here!” he announces in a bright voice, and I can tell, the conversation is over. “Ready for your big surprise?”

  I look around. Nothing but high-rise office buildings and the commuter lunch rush: people jostling on the sidewalks in business dress, clutching takeout bags and briefcases.

  “Umm, Hunter?” I ask, climbing down from the truck. “Maybe it’s time you explain what’s going on.”

  Hunter comes around to meet me. He slings one arm around my waist and pulls me into an excited hug. “It’s your interview.”

  “My what?” I blink at him, confused, but he’s seen someone past me on the street and is striding forwards to intercept them. Or rather, her: a stylish-looking woman in a crisply-tailored dress, heading for the entrance of the nearest office building.

  “Hey, Alicia, great timing.” Hunter calls. “We just got in.”

  “Hunter!” The woman brightens, greeting him with air kisses on both cheeks. “Look at you, I didn’t believe it when your mom said you’d moved to the sticks.”

  “It’s not exactly the middle of nowhere,” Hunter laughs. He’s casual and easy with her, and I can tell that they’re old friends. “Just a couple of hours away. It’s a great little town, right on the shore. You should come visit sometime.”

  “Please, you know me,” Alicia laughs, tossing back her mane of glossy blonde hair. “I’d wither away and die without valet parking and takeout on speed dial.” She turns to me with a bright smile. “And you must be Brittany. A pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Hunter’s here…”

  She holds out a hand for me to shake, an elegant gold watch dangling from her wrist that’s probably worth more than everything I’ve ever owned.

  “Hi,” I say slowly, still trying to figure out what’s going on. “It’s, umm, nice to meet you too.”

  I give Hunter a baffled look, and he jumps in. “Alicia and I were at college together,” he explains. “Now she’s head of publicity for Jacob Main,” he names a big clothing designer based here in the city. “I thought you two should meet, so I arranged an interview for you.”

  I stop.

  “You did what?” I stare at him, my confusion giving way to spine-chilling dread.

  He’s kidding. He’s got to be kidding me.

  But Hunter laughs, proud of what he’s done. “See, I said you’d never guess.”

  My heartbeat trips in panic, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Guess that I’d be dropped into the most important meeting of my life, with no warning or time to prepare?

  Oh God.

  “I have a conference call at three,” Alicia pipes up apologetically. “So we should head on up there. Do you have your portfolio?” she asks me.

  My heart lifts. A chance to escape this ambush. “No, I’m sorry,” I tell her relieved. “I don’t have it with me. Maybe we can reschedule—”

  “I’ve got it.” Hunter reaches into the truck and pulls out my portfolio, and a book of extra sketches. He must have taken them while I was getting ready upstairs, I realize with a sinking feeling. Hunter passes them to me. “Now you’re all set. I’ve got to run some errands, so call me when you’re done. And don’t be nervous,” he drops his tone, “You’ll be great.”

  “But—” My protest is lost under his kiss, and then Alicia is steering me inside, her high heels tapping on the polished marble floors. Before I can think, or turn and bolt down the street, we’re in the lobby, a huge, glass-covered atrium full of modern art.

  “I can’t wait to see your designs.” She chats pleasantly as we wait for the elevators. “Hunter here was raving about you, and if a guy like him can notice fashion, it’s got to be good.”

  I manage a murmur of agreement, but inside, I’m freaking out. How the hell could he do this to me? I’m not ready for this: Jacob Main was top of my list when it came to sending out job applications, and all I got was a photocopied rejection letter. And now, here I am, about to sit down and show them my designs?

  I feel a tightness in my chest, like the walls of the elevator are closing in on me. My skin prickles with panic, and I break into a cold sweat, clammy on the surface of my skin.

  How could he do this to me?

  The elevator dings as we reach the eleventh floor. “We’re right down here,” Alicia says, striding down the hallway. For a moment I’m tempted to hit the button and head right back down again, but then she turns, waiting with a friendly smile.

  “Great,” I whisper, following her.

  “We moved offices a couple of months ago, so still pretty chaotic.” Alicia leads me into a large, open-plan office. My mouth drops open as I follow her through the space, clutching my portfolio to my chest. Light is flooding in from full-length windows, and everywhere I look, there’s color and life. People consult fabric swatches strewn over a long bench, others work on computers at cool cubicles decorated with art and fashion magazine tears. Huge, oversized photos from the Jacob Main catalogue are mounted on the wall, and a
ll around us, there’s a buzz of activity and purpose.

  “We’re partnering with a major store for their summer line next year,” Alicia adds, “So everyone’s working double-time getting the designs set right now.”

  People look up curiously as we pass, checking me out. I feel their gazes slip over me, and can’t help but notice the looks of surprise and disapproval that follow. In an instant, I’m taken back to high school, walking the hallways in one of my hand-me-down, homemade outfits that’s so obviously not the latest fashion.

  My heart plummets. This ambush happened so quickly, I didn’t even have time to think about how I look, but now I’m here in the office, surrounded by gorgeous, glossy women, it hits me just as hard as the feelings of inferiority that haunted me all those years ago. I’m dressed all wrong for this.

  The outfit I hastily assembled for a casual day back in Beachwood Bay is way out of place here in the chic surroundings: my boots are scuffed and ratty, my cut-off shorts worn through in places, and God, I’m wearing a bikini top. In the city! What kind of hick kid must they think I am?

  By the time Alicia shows me into a large office with sweeping views of downtown, I already want to curl up in a ball and disappear, but the ordeal is only just beginning.

  “This is Maxwell Anderson, he’s in charge of our design team.” Alicia introduces me to a sharply-dressed man in dark-rimmed glasses, waiting in one of the designer lounge chairs.

  “Umm, hi,” I manage, wishing my hands would stop shaking. Everything about Maxwell screams style, from the pocket square poking out of his jacket pocket, right down to the spotless white sneakers he’s wearing. He’s intimidatingly cool. “It’s great to meet you. Thanks for making time—”

  Maxwell snaps his fingers and gestures for my portfolio. I hand it over, watching with my heart in my mouth as he flips over the last five years of my work and sweat and tears with barely a second glance.

  Alicia gives me a sympathetic smile, as if to say, ‘don’t worry.’ “Where are your main interests?” she asks, taking a seat on a silk-covered couch and gesturing for me to do the same. “We’re primarily a womenswear company, although we’ve been branching out with a limited, high-end accessories line. Shoes, some handbags.”

 

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